


Avery Wilkes and the Heart of the World

by ArtificialCormorant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24891751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialCormorant/pseuds/ArtificialCormorant
Summary: Avery Wilkes, Ministry of Magic employee at the administrative section of the Improper Use of Magic Office, has come across a lead to a magical artefact that even those in the Wizarding World consider lost or destroyed at best, and complete hogwash at worst. He is determined to get to the bottom of it, especially when he learns that he isn't the only one interested.
Kudos: 1





	Avery Wilkes and the Heart of the World

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story featuring mostly original characters. There may be a reference to canon characters at times, but the focus is not on them.

93 Thertom Court was a little apartment above a secondhand bookshop somewhere in London. It had a sober bedroom, and a living room stacked to the brim with books. There were bookcases, certainly, but these were already overflowing, as was the dining table, the sofa, and the window sills. Sparse sunlight filtered in between haphazardly stacked books. At the dining table, some space between all the books was cleared to make room for a plate of toast and a cup of tea. Avery Wilkes was enjoying both while reading that morning’s Daily Prophet. It was promising to be a thrilling day at the administration section of the Improper Use of Magic Office where he worked. At least, according to Avery. Yesterday, the new first years at Hogwarts were admitted, which meant that today would be his turn to create new records for all the upcoming wizards and witches. He would most probably be very busy with it the entire week, seeing as there were quite a number of new students this year, according to the article in the paper. Next to a photo of professor McGonagall with the new students smiling and waving, was an advertisement of Flourish and Blotts Bookseller, offering a discount on first year books this week. Below that was a more worrying article about a scuffle at the White Wyvern pub on Knockturn Alley, in which two wizards were injured and a witch had to be admitted to St. Mungo’s on account of the skin having been melted off of her face. Avery flipped to the funny pages, read the comic strip adventures of Farfa the free elf and started a Hufflepuf themed crossword. Every time he wrote down a correct answer, the drawing of a cartoon badger above the puzzle winked, and when he had finished it, the puzzle faded momentarily and the words well done! appeared.  
He finished his tea and stuffed the last bit of toast into his mouth. As he stood, he fished his grey robe from the back of the chair he had been sitting on and used his wand to smoothe the creases. Putting it on he smiled and hummed as he stepped into the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the nearby cauldron.

Moments later, Avery appeared in a fireplace at the atrium of the Ministry in a flash of green flame. His lanky frame made him stand out in that he was at least half a head taller than most other witches and wizards. Although that was often a boon when someone needed to find him or he wanted to see how long the queue was when shopping, it did not always serve him well at the Ministry, what with all the interdepartmental memo’s flitting overhead. The blue ceiling had golden symbols moving across it, which every so often morphed into words of congratulations to proud parents of newly admitted Hogwarts students. Avery heard quite a few passing colleagues discuss the Sorting ceremony as he walked across the dark wood floor of the atrium.  
“Our oldest got into Hufflepuff, just like me and my mother,” and “I can’t believe Sam was placed in Slytherin of all houses. I’ve yet to see an ambitious bone in that boys body.” Avery heard a number of joyous and regretful commentaries by the time he reached the watchwizard at the golden gates that admitted formal entry into the Ministry.  
“Morning Wilkes,” said the watchwizard, clad in a blue robe, as Avery approached.  
“Good morning, Preeney,” he replied. “I recall you saying your daughter is attending Hogwarts for the first time this year. Did she get into Gryffindor like you hoped?”  
Preeney smiled. “Yes she did. Wife’s over the moon. Made butterbeer pancakes this morning and served pumpkin juice like it was a Sunday.”  
“Grand,” Avery said, returning the smile. “Enjoy your day.”  
Preeney tipped an imaginary hat and turned to the next in line. Avery joined his colleagues in the lift. Some where wearing scarves and neckties in their House colours, while others looked somewhat disappointed, and were notably devoid of festive apparel.

***

“Right then,” Avery said as he entered his office. “Busy week this week, Gen.”  
Gen, or to those less amicable with her, Genevieve, perhaps even miss Finch, was already hard at work at her desk in the office she shared with her colleague and long time friend.  
Genevieve looked up from her work and smiled at him. “Yes, I’m sure it will be. The list of new student names came in half an hour ago by owl.”  
“Splendid,” Avery said as he hurried to his desk. He unrolled the rather long scroll, containing various personalia to be recorded. He scanned the list, doing a quick tally in his head.  
“Lot of Hufflepuffs this year, it seems,” he said.  
“Oh, lovely,” Genevieve replied, looking slightly annoyed as she was drawn from her work again, but coaxing a smile onto her lips nonetheless. “Go, badgers.”  
“Yes,” Avery said, oblivious to her annoyance. “Good for them. The more the merrier, I suppose. I’ll fill you in on the complete spread during lunch. Tea?”  
“Later perhaps, and I’ll have something else than your eternal chamomile tea, please.”  
Avery shook his head and sighed. Genevieve rolled her eyes.  
“Oh please, this again? Every year, honestly. No, I don’t care for herbal tea. Yes, I really was in Hufflepuff, could I please get back to my work? I need this done by the end of the day.”  
“Alright, alright, no need to get upset.” Avery sat down at his desk and aimed his wand into a teapot on his desk. He recited a spell and filled it with water. A tap on the outside of the pot brought it to a boil. Avery produced a paper bag from a pocket in his robe and tipped a liberal amount of chamomile flowers into the pot.  
“Ah,” Avery exclaimed, “now then, let’s get things started.”  
Avery’s desk was a mirror of his apartment, stacked with books and scrolls. Genevieve’s desk was bare by comparison. She had some dossiers and books on it, but all neatly stacked.  
Avery and Genevieve worked for a few hours in relatively silence, only broken by some of Avery’s comments on his work now and again, which were quickly shot down by Genevieve. 

They went out for lunch today, to the Hopping Pot on Carkitt Market - Avery’s treat.  
“Not that much Ravenclaws, then?” Genevieve said as they walked through Carkitt market, approaching the Hopping Pot. It was a cold, windy day and the both of them had their robes completely fastened and wore scarves.  
“You can’t expect everyone to live up to those standards, Gen,” Avery said with a glint in his eyes.  
“Of course,” Genevieve said sarcastically.  
They passed a stall where a man with a scraggly grey beard wearing a blue dustcoat was selling flowers. “Yellow snappin’ lilies, pearly white lunar roses - for the night owls in yer life, butterscotch buttercups that make ye wish it was Christmas already,” the flower seller called out. “Buy yer loved ones some lovely chocolate scented daises.” There was a plethora of shapes and colours of flowers, the combined smells of which made everyone smile that passed the stall.  
The Hopping Pot pub had a large wooden barrel suspended above the doors, with the name and a picture of a hopping pot emblazoned on it. Genevieve went in ahead of Avery, and was almost hit by an elf passing by carrying a pile of dirty plates, saucers, cups and glasses back to the kitchen.  
“Apologies, miss,” the elf said in passing. “Take a seat, I’ll be right with you.”  
The place was furnished with dozens of different chairs and tables, in all manner of styles and colours. There was an ornate oak dining table, a ramshackle set of a table and chairs for two built from what seemed like driftwood and even a table made entirely of shimmering crystal surrounded by a number of stools painted in bright colours. Everything was placed around a fireplace in the middle of the room, above which a cauldron hung, bubbling away, changing the smell in the room every time someone was served a drink or a meal. Avery and Genevieve sat down at a table that was obviously a barn door propped up on a few barrels.  
“What will it be?” the elf from before said, apparating next to their table. He wore a brown leather apron over a white shirt and a pair of tight green trousers. His shoes were so shiny, Avery could see his face in them.  
“Gillywater for me,” Genevieve said, “and,” she let her finger slide across the menu she was holding. “A steak and kidney pie.”  
“Ploughman’s lunch for me please,” Avery said as the elf turned his gaze to him.  
“With lager or ale?” the elf asked.  
“Chamomile tea, if it’s all the same to you, please,” Avery responded.  
Unfazed, the elf nodded and disappeared.  
Avery and Genevieve discussed their day so far, the outcome of the Sorting ceremony and the news about Rodolphus LeStrange escaping.  
“Anything else new?” Genevieve inquired halfway through her pie.  
“Not much, really,” Avery said. “Though i have been looking into a lost artifact that had piqued my interest some weeks back.”  
“Oh?” said Genevieve. “Do tell.”  
Avery bent towards Genevieve and spoke somewhat softer than before. “Solomon’s Seal,” he said.  
“Solomon? King of ancient Jerusalem?” Genevieve asked. “Surely you know that the actual signet ring of Solomon has very possibly been destroyed, or at least lost to the world? You know as well as I do that numerous people - wizards, witches, as well as muggles - have looked for it for centuries without as much as a glimpse of it.”  
The elf server apparated next to Genevieve. “Is everything to your liking? Something more to drink, perhaps? Side dish?”  
“Another Gillywater for me, please” said Genevieve.  
“I’m fine,” Avery said. “Thank you.”  
The elf disappeared and reappeared a few moments later with a glass of Gillywater.  
“Yes,” Avery said. “That Solomon. And I know they have, but I think they have been looking in the wrong places. You see, most have sought in and around Jerusalem, or sites connected to Masons or Templars. But I found a text about the knights of the Round Table, that could put the ring right here,” Avery tapped a finger on the table as emphasis. “In Britain.”  
“That’s nonsense, Ave,” Genevieve said. “How would there be any connection?”  
“I found a book of history on magic in Britain,” Avery said. “Or rather, Winnifred did.”  
“The squib who runs the secondhand bookstore beneath your place? How?”  
“A muggle brought it in as part of a collection of books from his late aunt. Winnifred wasn’t able to find out who it was. The title is Magic of Medieval Britain, but the most interesting part is the author - Silvius Butlerson, whom I've discovered is a son of a nephew of a son of an illegitimate child of an actual knight of Arthur's Round Table." Avery beamed and looked at Genevieve expectantly.  
"That's still quite a stretch," Genevieve said with a shrug. "He would still be hundreds of years removed from the actual knight. What does the book say about the ring, anyway?"  
"Well," Avery said as he bent forward as if to relay some very private information. "As the book has it, a certain knight, Elyan the White, was the daughter of a princess and a knight named Bors. But Bors had sworn a vow of chastity. Apparently, Bors had only claimed to have lain with the princess, while actually it was Lancelot, under a spell of the princess using a magic ring."  
"And that ring was none other than Solomon's Seal?" Genevieve said, raising her eyebrows. "Again, that's quite a leap."  
"I know, I know," said Avery, "Just hear me out. I thought so, too, but I went searching for something about Elyan. I found a sixteenth century genealogy book, a monster of a tome, that listed noble and knightly families. I found the family tree listing Elyan, but above it were his mother, Claire and Bors, but Bors was in parentheses, and - get this - instead of the usual cross denoting marriage, there was a circle."  
"So this Elyan was born out of wedlock or his paternity was unclear, that still doesn't prove anything." Genevieve sighed softly and slid her chair back. "I'm used to better nonsense hunting from you, Avery. At any rate, I think we should head back. I need to pop into the post office to send an owl before that, though.”  
The elf that had been bringing them their food and drinks apparated next to Avery. "I hope everything was to your liking. Anything else for you, perhaps? Otherwise, that will be a galleon and fourteen sickles, please.”  
Avery counted out the amount and added a civil tip. The elf waved over the money to make it disappear and gave a courteous nod at Avery when he noticed the tip.  
“Thank you very much, sir. Please come again, and feel free to ask for Twigham.”  
Avery slid back his chair and stood up, looking a little puzzled. “That’s an odd name for an elf, if I may say so. It’s a good name, but.. Rather unique, I think.”  
Twigham smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Isn’t it? I chose a new name after i was freed. It used to be Gnarley.”  
“Twigham is far better,” Genevieve agreed. “Until next time, Twigham.”

When they returned to the Ministry, the hallway where their office was on was in complete disarray. From the office to their left came indiscernable yelling and the sound of things falling or being thrown. Genevieve kicked open the door that was already slightly ajar. Peter Gerant was on top of his desk, wand in his hand and was slinging spells at a little flying creature flitting around the room. By the door was someone Avery had perhaps seen before, but did not know by name. He was telling Peter where to aim, while holding a cage that was notably empty.  
“Afternoon,” Avery said dryly. “Anything we can assist with?”  
The man looked at Avery and Genevieve and then at Peter again. “Top of the bookcase, Peter, next to the - no, wait, behind the bust of Moody - no, now it’s under the desk.” Then to Avery and Genevieve, “It’s a bookwyrm, it’s escaped from its cage.”  
“And you want to catch it,” Genevieve added.  
“What gave you that idea?” Peter yelled as he looked for the bookwyrm with wide eyes.  
“Just a hunch,” Avery said. “I assume you brought it here, mister..?”  
“Leomund Faringworth, magizoologist, at your service.” Leomund said, almost extending a hand in greeting, but changing his mind, perhaps due to the circumstances, at the last moment.  
“And that little blur of chaos is… a bookwyrm?” Genevieve asked.  
“A bookwyrm, precisely. Very specific kind of poltergeist, created from a poltergeist exposed to an event of fair proportion involving something of a draconic nature. In this case, the wizard it was haunting tried to subdue it with magic, his wand - with a dragon heartstring - somehow broke and the spell backfired, the roof of the house caught fire and what was left of his personal library was claimed as a hoard by that little guy in the aftermath. Took me a full day to coax it out and capture it.”  
“So why not do the same thing now?” Genevieve said. “Allow it to make a hoard of the books here and get it when it’s comfortable.”  
“Let it get at my documents and books?” Peter said, “Over my dead body.”  
“You’re knocking them off the shelves now yourself,” Avery added.  
“They’re right, Peter,” Leomund said. “You’ll ruin everything at this rate anyway.”  
An annoyed grimace appeared on Peter’s face as he sighed and jumped off the desk. The four of them quickly exited the office and closed the door.  
“And now?” Avery asked.  
“And now we wait,” said Leomund. “Bookwyrms can be as destructive and bold as their poltergeist origins, but their love for paper and parchment always comes up on top. Give it a few minutes to cool off, and it will start nesting?”  
“Nesting?” Peter exclaimed in surprise and disgust.  
Leomund raised his hands to signify Peter that he could calm down. “Just zoological jargon, Peter. A dragon’s hoarding habits are - at the root - nesting behaviour. Both males and females do it, I’m not sure why, you’d have to ask a dragonologist.”  
“But it’s not, is it?” Genevieve asked. “A dragon, I mean. You said yourself that they’re poltergeists.”  
“Yes,” said Leomund, “but the merging with the draconic aspects of whatever caused it to become a bookwyrm, makes it think - or at least act as if - it is.”  
Through the door they heard yelps and squeals, and the sound of books falling and papers fluttering around. It continued for a few minutes, as they all listened intently. Then, slowly, it died down until all was silent.  
“Alright,” Leomund said, “Follow me, and be quiet.”  
He slowly opened the door to the office and opened it just enough to catch a glimpse of the creature. It was on a pile of books, scrolls and dossiers on top of the desk. Books, scrolls and dossiers were also strewn across the floor, a potted plant was knocked from the windowsill, the desk chair had fallen over and a number of framed photographs on the wall had been cracked.  
Leomund motioned the other three to follow him as he snuck in.  
“So,” Genevieve whispered, “how exactly are bookwyrms created?”  
“Well,” Leomund whispered back, “as I said, they are poltergeists. Not many know, but poltergeists are created by specific circumstances, and are more magical phenomena than actual spirits. They are influenced by magic to some extent, and certain magical occurrences, especially backfiring of spells, due to the chaotic nature of them, can deeply influence them.”  
“So,” Peter said, “the poltergeist absorbed the essence of the wand’s dragon heartstring and the… bookish interests of the library it was in at the time?”  
“Correct,” Leomund said. “It is bound to the nature of it’s surroundings and the objects exuding that nature. This one is folded from the pages of a manual on cockatrice husbandry. I’ve seen them created from parchment and papyrus as well, either folded or crumpled.”  
The bookwyrm was nuzzling an opened tome and created a sound that seemed a mix of purring and the flipping of pages. Leomund slowly crept up on it, raising his wand in its direction. The purring stopped, the bookwyrm snapped its head in Leomund’s direction and squawked angrily, before flapping it’s wings and lifting off.  
“Petrificus totalus!” Leomund yelled. A light flashed from his wand and a moment later, the bookwyrm stiffened and fell back down onto the desk, tipped over and fell onto the floor.  
“Well,” Peter said. “That was interesting. May I suggest putting it back in its cage?”  
As Leomund set to collect the bookwyrm and put it back in its cage, Peter went around his office with his wand, putting the books back and repairing the photograph frames.  
“What were you doing with that here anyway, Leomund?” Genevieve asked.  
“Oh,” Leomund said, “just showing off, I suppose. I was discussing poltergeists with Peter the other day, and after this one crossed my path, I just had to pop in and show him.”  
“Right,” Genevieve said, “Like colleagues going off about knights of the Round Table and magic rings.”  
“What?” Peter said, looking puzzled as he straightened the last photograph.  
“Oh,” said Avery, “just a little hobby.”  
“Obsession,” Genevieve corrected with a smirk.  
“I suppose,” said Avery as he shrugged and smiled. “I found a connection between a knight and the Seal of Solomon.”  
Leomund and Peter raised their eyebrows in obvious surprise.  
“The seal of Solomon?” Peter said. “That’s a myth. Wizards have spent centuries looking for it, and haven’t found a thing, other than fakes.”  
“I’m afraid he’s right, Avery,” said Leomund. “The Seal doesn’t exist and making a connection as far-fetched as with the knights of king Arthur doesn’t somehow make it true.”  
Genevieve sighed. “Don’t bother, he’ll only bite into it harder.”  
Avery smiled impishly as he pushed his glasses back. “You bet I do.”  
“Yes, yes, calm down,” Genevieve said, rolling her eyes. “We need to get back to work.

***

After a long day, Avery looked forward to a relaxing evening, with some tea and a book. He appeared in his fireplace in a green flame and was shocked that his apartment was a complete and utter mess. Granted, it always was a chaos, but this even beyond the clutter Avery himself created. Books were tossed everywhere, his dining table was tipped over and even the antique muggle typewriter he had hidden away in a cupboard was on the floor.  
“I can’t find it, Mal, it’s not here,” a woman’s voice came from the bedroom.  
A man in a patched black robe appeared from behind the couch, of which the cushions were thrown all across the living room. He had long, greasy blonde hair and a tuft of hair beneath his lower lip.  
“Not here either - he’s here!” the man called out. He grabbed a wand from his sleeve and pointed at Avery. Avery ran and ducked behind the dining table as a white flash just missed him and cracked a cluster of bricks in the fireplace. A woman with long, black curly hair wearing a red dress and black cloak with the hood back came storming out of the bedroom with her wand drawn. Avery fumbled for his wand, aimed at the woman and stunned her. The woman swished her wand, probably to shield herself, seemed to have failed, and promptly crashed into a bookcase as she lost consciousness.  
“Your friend’s down,” Avery said from behind the table. “Why are you here?”  
The answer was a blast and splinters flying off the dining table.  
Avery looked over the edge of the table and saw the burgling wizard - Mal, apparently, approaching. Avery quickly got up, aimed and knocked Mal’s wand from his hand with an expelliarmus spell. The wand was sent flying and landed on a pile of books. Mal sneered, closed the distance between them in a moment and smashed his forehead into Avery’s nose. Avery reeled as he felt his nosebone crack and warm blood streamed across his mouth and chin. Mal turned and scrambled to get his wand back. Avery sent a stunning spell his way. Mal dodged it by dropping on the floor. Mal rolled, grabbed the nearest thing - a little bronze bust of Nicholas Flamel - and threw it at Avery, knocking his wand out of his hand.  
As Avery ducked to retrieve it, Mal collected his wand and threw himself on his female companion, apparating away just as Avery got his hands on his wand again.  
“Blast!” Avery exclaimed. He looked around his apartment. It was an enormous mess. The dining table was cracked, the lower three planks of one of his bookcases broken and the floor was strewn with books and scrolls. He didn’t have the energy to go see what kind of pandemonium his bedroom was left in. Avery went to the bathroom - the shower curtain was torn and the mirror had been broken. He looked in the mirror, and saw six separate reflections of himself in the shards, all looking equally terrible. He healed his nose best he could and cleaned his face somewhat with cold water.  
All this madness for a hunch about a magic ring? Avery thought to himself. It had to be the ring, nothing else had happened recently that could be explained as the motivation for this home invasion. He shook his head. He was in over his head, and he wasn’t even sure he was in anything to start with. He wasn’t about to let this pass unnoticed. He couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t return. I need to contact someone at the Ministry, Avery thought. Someone he could trust, preferably, and someone with the resources or abilities to get to the bottom of this.


End file.
